The Whelp
by Earendilion
Summary: Not everyone is as willing as Celegorm to accept the newest addition to the family. Oneshot, pre-Silmarils.


**A/N** A oneshot born of my own love for man's best friend. 

For S.M., our very own dog-whisperer.

"Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole."

- Roger Caras

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Fëanáro resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose. "No, Tyelkormo."

"But Atar-"

"I said no. It is my final word."

He turned to walk away, but Tyelkormo scrambled after him, legs working furiously to keep up with his father's stride. "But Atar, Lord _Oromë_ gave him to me!"

"_It_, Tyelkormo. Oromë gave _it_ to you, and _it_ will not be staying, so you may as well stop referring to it as though it is a person."

Tyelkormo's face crumpled as he stopped short, pleading with his eyes, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the wriggling gray mass in his arms which was straining to lick every inch of his face and neck. "What shall I do with him then, Atar?"

"You must take him back to Oromë, thank him for his generous gift, but tell him you are not allowed-"

He was cut off by a tremendous burst of squealing. He turned to see Carnistir and Curufinwë hurrying across the lawn towards them, Ambarussa in tow. He groaned.

"Oh, Tyelkormo! You have been given a _pup!_"

"May I hold him, Tyelkormo? _Please?_"

"You do not even know if it is a _he_, Curufinwë. And you are too small to hold him. _I _shall hold him!"

"Pup! Pup!"

His father's command forgotten, Tyelkormo was beaming again as the furry bundle in his arms renewed its efforts to wash his and his brothers' faces so clean they shone. 

Rolling his eyes and sighing, Fëanáro left the chattering bunch and stormed into the house, deciding he would deal with the problem later. 

"What is this I hear about a pup?" Nerdanel asked when he entered. She was seated at the window, busy embroidering one of her husband's tunics. 

"Tyelkormo has been given a whelp," Fëanáro growled, slumping into a chair at the table and pulling his sketches towards him roughly. 

"Ah. By whom?"

"Lord Oromë," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"I see. And why does this rankle so?"

"Nerdanel, we are _not_ adopting a dog, much less this mutt. It is a wretched mass of fur, and will never amount to anything."

Nerdanel had to struggle to conceal her smile. "Fëanáro, I am sure that a gift from a Vala is not so worthless as you would presume."

"You may be right, lady mine. I have wanted a new rug for the front hall for some time now."

"Do not let the boys hear you talking like that," Nerdanel said quietly, glancing out the window to see that Nelyofinwë and Makalaurë had joined the hound's welcoming party. "I do not see the harm in allowing Tyelkormo a companion. It may come in-"

"Nerdanel, please think rationally," Fëanáro pleaded. "A hound will shed, chew our furniture and boots to shreds, wake us with its howling, steal food from our table-"

"I believe you are putting this out of proportion, my love," Nerdanel said softly, rising to place her hands on her husband's shoulders. "Besides, if Lord Oromë decided to bless our son with such a gift, who are we to refuse?"

"The One himself could have given Tyelkormo that _thing_ and I would not be any more disposed towards it. A dog is a dog, Nerdanel, and-"

The door burst open suddenly. "Ammë! Huan is hungry!"

"And they have named it!" Fëanáro roared as his wife moved to her sons and their new pet, throwing his hands in the air. His family ignored him completely. He could hear Nerdanel crooning over the hound behind him. "Fine," he snarled, standing and towering over them. This time, they looked up. "_Fine_. On your own heads be it. But when it chews a hole in someone's blanket or eats Ambarussa-"

There was a collective gasp from the children as Tyelkormo looked indignant, Nelyofinwë amused, Carnistir horrified, and Ambarussa blissfully oblivious to what their father had just insinuated as they patted the hound firmly on the head, babbling happily to themselves.

"Fëanáro," Nerdanel hissed in warning. "This whelp is as harmless as the tunic on your back-"

_Until I strangle someone with it,_ Fëanáro thought venomously.

"-and has done nothing to offend you since it entered your household! You may at least tolerate it until you can _prove_ your claims."

At that moment, the hound clambered out of Nerdanel's grasp, tumbled over its too-large paws to Fëanáro, yelped happily at him, and relieved itself on his boot.

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In the weeks to come, the new hound lived up to everyone's respective expectations. A constant companion to Tyelkormo, it trotted faithfully at his heels wherever he went, eating from his hand and, to Fëanáro's eternal discontent, sleeping on his bed. In the evenings, it would curl before the fire, rather like the furry rug Fëanáro wished it to be, and gazed at whoever came to pet it with a warm, loving gaze. Nerdanel's maternal care caused it to grow far more rapidly than Fëanáro thought was necessarily healthy – or safe – and within a fortnight it was twice as big as it had been. 

Most of the family saw only the good in the loyal dog. It protected Tyelkormo in his journeys, was a friend to all whom it met, and was calm and obedient. Most considered it a blessing to their family. All except Fëanáro.

He found himself quite justified in his opinion of the mutt. He was the one to repair Tyelkormo's bed frame when the hound nearly chewed the leg off. He was the one sent into Tirion to purchase more cloth for a new tunic for Makalaurë's, as it had torn his old one. He was the one who was woken first when the whelp cried at night to be taken outside. He was the one who spent half an afternoon chasing it around the gardens when it stole Curufinwë's favorite toy. He was the one who had to scrub the paw prints off the floor when it discovered Nerdanel's paints. It seemed as though the accursed animal had decided its purpose in life was to make life miserable for him.

"That _dog_," he snarled one rainy night after sitting down in his chair and realizing he had sat on one of its bones. Only just refraining from throwing the bone through the window – never mind the fact that the window was closed – he tossed it into a corner and sat again, feeling rather dejected. 

"Fëanáro," Nerdanel sighed softly, coming up behind him and massaging his shoulders and neck. "You see only the negative. It is true, the pup can be a challenge, but he will grow out of it, as all children do. You must be patient. Look at how happy Tyelkormo is."

Fëanáro muttered under his breath, placated slightly by his wife's tender ministrations. 

"Does he know how much I dislike his… friend?" he asked, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

"I think he suspects," Nerdanel said vaguely, leaning over to kiss his forehead. "I think he wishes you would at least _try_ to like Huan."

Fëanáro sighed. "If it will make Tyelkormo-"

A clap of thunder shook the house as a knot of elflings and one dog tumbled into the house, panting and muddy from playing in the rain. 

Huan, still excited, bounded into the sitting room, prancing and barking with joy, and leapt directly into Fëanáro's lap, lapping furiously at his face and nearly knocking the chair over. 

That was the last straw. 

Fëanáro shoved the hound onto the floor, fuming as he looked at himself and the room before him. Both were streaked with mud and dog saliva. And, to make things worse, Huan decided that was the moment to dry himself, and began to shake every droplet of rain and mud from his coat with a fury worthy of Ossë. 

With a snarl, he seized the hound's collar and dragged it outside, slamming the door behind it. Turning back to the room at large, he saw Tyelkormo's stricken face first.

"Atar, you cannot-"

"I can, and I shall," he growled. "I have had enough. Go to bed. We will discuss what we shall do with it in the morning."

Tears began to form in Tyelkormo's eyes, and Fëanáro caught a single, choked sob as his son whirled and ran up the stairs to his room, soon followed by his abashed brothers. 

Once the boys had disappeared, Nerdanel faced him, eyes flashing. "If that is how you wished to get through to Tyelkormo, congratulations, you have succeeded," she said coldly, sweeping past him and up the stairs to soothe the crying now echoing through the ceiling.

Fëanáro grimaced and folded his arms stubbornly, watching her retreating back with narrowed eyes. But the look on Tyelkormo's face would not leave him, and he finally sighed, relenting, and stepped out into the rain, closing the door behind him.

The dog was curled on the front step, looking miserable, its ears and tail drooping, its eyes sad as they looked mournfully up at him. There was not a little accusation there, either. It seemed to be asking him what on earth it had done wrong, so wrong that he had been separated from his most-beloved master. 

Fëanáro crossed his arms again, glaring down at the mutt, which stared persistently back, never changing its meltingly sorrowful gaze. 

"Look here, you," he began firmly, "I will not have this in my household. If you truly are a hound of Oromë, then I know you understand every word I or anyone else has ever said to you. Tyelkormo loves you, and for this reason I will allow you to stay-"

The hound's tail thumped the step once, and his ears pricked up. 

"-conditionally."

The tail thumped twice more. 

"There will be no chewing on anything but those things you are given explicitly for that purpose and your food. You shall not jump on _anyone_, particularly the little ones, nor shall you vex them. Mind your claws and your teeth. And if Tyelkormo receives so much as a scratch on your watch, so help me…." He left the threat hanging. 

The whelp sat up abruptly and gave a sharp bark of agreement, tail pounding rapidly and tongue lolling.

"Alright, then." Fëanáro grimaced. He had just negotiated with a dog. 

Seeming to read his thoughts, Huan pranced forward to lick his hand happily. Fëanáro scowled, but patted the dog's head formally and opened the door to let himself inside. 

"Not a word of this to anyone, understood?" he muttered, and Huan yipped his quiet accord. "And do not track mud on the carpets." 

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"Huan, would you bring me the small tongs, please?"

The enormous hound lifted himself obligingly from his resting place, took the tool carefully in his massive jaws, and trotted over to Fëanáro's work table to drop them beside his hand.

"Thank you." Fëanáro raised a hand to pat Huan's shoulder, which was nearly at his own eyelevel. 

Tyelkormo's head appeared around the open doorway. "Atar, Carnistir and I are going into Tiri-" He broke off with a frown. "Atto, he is not supposed to be walking. He will re-injure his ligament-"

"He is quite alright, Tyelkormo," Fëanáro reassured his grown son, waving a dismissive hand at him. "If he was not, he would not be walking."

Huan gave a deep, contented growl of concurrence as Tyelkormo stroked his thick mane of fur, still looking discontented. 

"If you think so. But please make sure he rests while I am gone, Atar."

"Go, Tyelkormo! He will be fine. Your mother will see to him."

"But he follows _you_ around, Atar. He will get up�to walk for _you_."

Fëanáro snorted. "Be gone with you. When have you ever rested after straining a muscle on a long hunt?"

"Atar-"

"I will watch him. Go on." 

Tyelkormo sighed resignedly, but withdrew. Huan sank to the ground with a heavy sigh and went back to sleep.

They went back to the house together that evening, as usual, Fëanáro perusing the day's sketches, Huan sniffing happily at the scents of the garden. He lay beside Fëanáro's chair as he supped, and followed him into the sitting room to settle beside him once more as he read and wrote his letters.

"You know, Fëanáro, for so fervently disliking Huan and believing he would never amount to anything,�you seem to�have become quite fast friends," Nerdanel commented casually as she sat next to her husband with her sewing. 

"Nonsense, Nerdanel," Fëanáro muttered, stroking Huan's raised head absently. "I neither felt nor said anything of the sort."

Huan licked his hand. 


End file.
